THE WAITING ROOM
I felt it the whole ride there.
Throbbing, sickening abdominal pain.
I dragged my feet through hospital doors,
hoping for nurses,
prepping me, soothing me, drugging me.
Instead there was a finger pointed,
down the hall, to the left.
To a cold uncomfortable chair,
to an ambience of coughs, sneezes, and moans.
A man walked in, blood staining his chest.
He sat by me, still bleeding, still in pain.
This is where the poor come, my mother said,
and wait an eternity.
I will feel that moment forever,
the shift in weight of inequality.